Story Box
by nottheonlyfanaround
Summary: Just a bunch of Harry Potter mini stories.
1. Helpful

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 1631

Category: Short

Prompt(s): [Word] Helpful

 **AU Warning: In this AU McGonagall decided she would take Harry in and care for him, instead of letting Petunia and Vernon take him in and be cruel to him for all his eleven years before Hogwarts.**

* * *

"You're giving Lily and James Potter's son to _whom?_ " Came the deadly calm voice of Minerva McGonagall. Her question pointed towards the old wizard who stood before her dressed in long purple robes and a pair of half-moon spectacles on his face. She stood clad in green robes, an ice cold glare taking over her usually stoic features.

"I can't give him to anyone else Minerva." It was a short reply, one that definitely wasn't helpful, not in Minerva's eyes at least. Nor anyone else's she presumed. It was almost like he thought _that_ would deter her from her argument.

"Why in Merlin's name not Albus?" It was the first time she'd called him by his first name, an indication she had no intention of backing down from this argument any time soon. "He'll be known all across our world by now. I'm sure there's at least _one_ other family willing to take him in."

"Exactly my dear, we can't have him raised in that, it'll all get to his head. No one, not even Harry, will benefit from that." Albus Dumbledore's eyes had softened at the corners, the twinkling in the edge of his eyes dim, though still _barely_ there. Realization dawned on the elderly witch at the elder wizard's words, yet determination still burned bright in her eyes.

"You don't want him raised so he's pampered?" A short nod from the Headmaster, a helpful bit of confirmation. "Fine then, give him to me. I'll raise him."

Albus' eyes grew warm and a smile graced his features. A gasp was heard from behind the two, it came from Hagrid, who was holding little Harry in his arms. They had momentarily forgotten his presence during their discussion, but it didn't matter. Minerva raised an eyebrow at Albus Dumbledore, as if to ask what his decision would be.

He seemed to contemplate her offer for a minute or so, the anxiety showing on the Transfiguration teacher's face clear as day. Hagrid could be heard in the almost silence, shushing the child he held in his arms, trying to keep him quiet and calm. It was extremely helpful, because Harry being quiet meant that the neighbors wouldn't wake up and notice the three of them standing there in unusual clothing, with a baby, talking about Muggle's and the fate of this particular child.

"Of course you can raise him." Came the soft reply from Albus, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. The corners of Minerva's mouth tilted slightly upwards as Hagrid handed her the baby, Harry Potter, and he snuggled contentedly in her arms. She apparated with a quick pop, leaving a smiling Albus Dumbledore and a crying Hagrid behind.

She laid him down in her bed, reminding herself she would need to get him a crib the next morning, before she sat down and prepared herself for the inevitability of Harry waking up crying in the middle of the night. However, she ended up falling asleep, and when she woke up to crying, it was in the morning with the sun already bursting through the windows of her small home.

Minerva looked down to Harry Potter's small face, with his unusually bright green eyes, who had stopped crying once she sat up. She picked him up and decided to wrap him back up in a cloth to keep him warm while she took him out shopping. He was a helpful little baby, he slept most of the time, he was calm, quiet, and always looking around at his surroundings with a sort of inquisitive wonder. It was almost like the world around him was fascinating, though he'd never been out of his cottage in Godric's Hollow, so it was all new to him.

The Hogwarts teacher bought him a small green crib, some food, and clothing, which he was absolutely fascinated with. For the next few months everything ran smoothly, Harry was a helpful child; he would always give some indication as to _what_ he was crying about, and wouldn't cry needlessly He also didn't wake up in the middle of the night that often, which meant Minerva could get her sleep. When he did wake up he would wake up crying, Minerva presumed he would forget where he was, and that he would be missing his mother and father. When these nights occured she would pick him up and hum a tune, and in minutes he would be back to sleeping soundly.

September came quicker than anyone had expected, and along with it came the problem of who would watch Harry while Minerva went to Hogwarts to teach classes. The solution was shocking, to say the least. Albus had simply warned the staff and other inhabitants of the fact that little Harry would be in the castle during the school year. He was one and just starting to crawl.

It warmed Minerva's heart to see the paintings practically on baby watch as Harry began to crawl better and better, moving across greater distances now. It was helpful that he tired himself out, as he fell asleep in the Charms classrooms for his naps everyday of the school year. Flitwick always moved him to an empty classroom where the ghosts made it their duty to watch him while he slept.

Harry had lost his biological family tragically, but everyone at Hogwarts was so helpful and caring that it seemed like _they_ were all his family now. Even the students took to playing with the young child in their free periods, performing magic for him and watching him giggle or just staring at him in awe. Hagrid was probably the most ecstatic about Harry practically growing up at Hogwarts, spending the most time with the young child when asked, eyes tearing up as he stared at him.

When Harry hit two-years-old he had random spurts of magic, which had been anything _but_ helpful. He had once stranded a group of first-year Slytherins on the stairs, as it seemed his magic could move the stairs at his own will. This had given all the professors a laugh, all but Snape, though he had never been particularly fond of Harry.

Hagrid however was extremely helpful during Harry's magical spurts, showing him random magical creatures to get him to calm down, or helping him channel his magic into something more useful.

At four years old Harry said his first word, it was a bit later than most would expect a child to say their first words, but Minerva had decided to let him speak on his own terms. He'd been reaching for her, wanting her to pick him up, and he'd eventually said, "Minnie!" She'd laughed quietly and picked him up, it seemed to be his favorite thing to do, and she couldn't deny that she was particularly fond of the nickname.

Years sped by quickly, and Harry was soon seven-years-old, contentedly watching the Quidditch teams as they practiced. Even though the teams kept fighting over who would teach him how to fly, it was comical, they thought they were being _helpful_. Minerva quickly found out about it and gave each team captain detentions, telling Harry that _she'd_ teach him how to fly. He was a natural, though that didn't shock her at all, his father had been amazing at the sport, Harry was bound to be the same.

At the age of eight he got his first wand with Minerva smiling softly behind him, as he stared at it in wonder. In any normal case he would have been denied a wand, but after the war ended there had been a new law set into place that underage witches and wizards from magical families could get wands as a form of self defence. It didn't hurt that he was The Boy Who Lived either. He practiced spells with Professor Flitwick often, learning small things and smiling to himself when he managed to perfect a spell. Even Snape helped him learn Potions, a small sliver of pride was obviously forming at how well Harry performed in their little potion lessons.

Ages nine and ten were fairly uneventful, which was helpful to the teachers, as he would stay up in the Owlery reading most often, or he could sometimes be found practicing his skills in empty classrooms. It filled everyone who helped raise the child with a sense of pride to see him growing to be a good natured and kind-hearted young boy.

Minerva didn't want to think of what would've happened to him if he'd stayed with Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Growing up with her was very much different, she felt, than growing up with _them_ would've been. She was strict and stern with him, but at least she let him know he was loved and that he was important. It was helpful for him to know that, moving on in his life, it would give him more self-confidence, allow him to be comfortable in his own skin. At least that's what she thought.

Now he was eleven and boarding a separate train to Hogwarts than he always had. The teaching staff couldn't wait to see what house he would get put into, and see if he'd made any friends on the train. He sat alone in a compartment, until a red-haired boy stopped in and sat down, they chatted for a while, becoming something like friends by simply introducing themselves and making friendly small talk.

"I'm Ron, Ron Weasley."

"Harry, Harry Potter."

"This is Scabbers, quite a sight isn't he?"

"Kind of."

The two started laughing, talking and conversing happily. They were sure of something, the both of them. They were going to Hogwarts, it would be amazing. One thing was for certain, however...

 ** _ **This would be the start of an absolutely**_** ** **amazing**** ** _ **adventure.**_**


	2. Too Soon to Leave

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 356

Category: Drabble

Prompt(s): [Speech] "I don't want to go."

* * *

He'd been sitting there for five days, leaving only to get food and to go to the bathroom. He couldn't bear to be away from there for too long, so he slept outside, on the cold hard ground, alongside the insects and animals. His family told him it was too dangerous to stay there, that he could get sick, or a wild animal could come out and attack him; he could _die_.

In some of his darker moments he thought maybe death would be better than living the life he currently led. Sure, it would leave his family broken, but he would see the one closest to him again. His family would move on eventually, and ultimately it would only make them stronger. Though he soon realized this isn't what his brother would have wanted, he wouldn't have wanted him to die when he had so much left to live for.

George could vividly remember a conversation he'd had with Fred just a year before, when his ear had been blown off; he thought he would die then.

"I don't want to go," he'd whispered, tears welling up in his eyes because he couldn't do that to Fred. He couldn't leave him all alone in a world that was so cold and unforgiving. Fred had nodded, hugging George as tight as possible, because _of course_ he understood.

"I won't let you go. I promise." And he'd survived. Fate had decided to spare him.

George heard the grass rustling softly in the breeze, the sound of footsteps moving towards him snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned slightly to gaze behind him, and looking up into the eyes of his only sister, Ginny. She gave a wry smile and sat down next to him, staring ahead at the grey headstone that held the name of their brother.

"It's time to go George, we need you back home."

His thoughts were saddened because he knew she was right, yet Fred hadn't left _him_ in the prospect of death. He turned to gaze across at her sullenly, "I don't want to go," he said.

" _ **I can't leave him."**_


	3. The Old Broom

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 767

Category: Standard

Prompt(s): [Object] An old broomstick

Year: Head

* * *

The Weasley family milled around their house, red hair moving to and from rooms swiftly. It was time for their annual summer cleaning, something that was necessary to reduce the ever-present clutter in their house.

George Weasley had been tasked with cleaning his shared bedroom. It was a mess: books were scattered all over the floor, along with shoes and articles of clothing, cobwebs were scattered around the bedposts, dust having settled on every surface possible.

Usually, it was a task his roommate would have taken on, though _he_ had been tasked with cleaning the kitchen this year, thus leaving George to clean up the room alone. He sighed, deciding to work on the clothing first, as it was a relatively easy task to complete. A simple, repetitive process, that took longer than he'd expected, despite most items going into the laundry bin.

After a few hours of cleaning, the room was almost clean. George felt a sense of accomplishment at getting the room so neat and tidy and the only thing that remained out of place was an old broomstick. It had been shoved in a corner near the head of George's bed, some cobwebs sticking to it. The broomstick had dust and some mold on it, the result of not being touched for two years. Even when other family members had been tasked with cleaning the room both of the years prior, no one had dared to move it.

It was an unspoken rule in the household: no one but George could touch, throw out, or do anything with the old broomstick that resided there. Harry had forgotten once in the previous fall, when he'd attempted to clean it off with his own maintenance kit, though he ended up backing off quickly when George snapped at him. George had felt he was justified in his actions: not a single family member could clean off the old broom because that was _Fred's_ job, no one else's.

The war had been over for two years, but Fred's passing was still felt among each and every person who'd known him. Sometimes George would come in from gardening to see his mother staring at him in confused anger, mouth open as if about to ask him where his brother was, why George had left him behind, before stopping herself with wide, sad eyes as she remembered the solemn fact that haunted each and every one of them.

 _Fred was gone_.

That old broomstick was special. It held so many bright and happy memories that the twins had shared. The first time had been when George and Fred had tried out for the Quidditch team, feeling confident after tryouts, and high-fiving as they flew to the ground. The ecstatic look on their faces as they found out they'd actually made it onto the team. Their mother's overjoyed letter to them congratulation both of them on making it.

Summers spent flying around playing their own version of Quidditch with their brothers and, occasionally, Ginny. Making up their own rules, which Fred would constantly change to annoy Percy, who was always one to follow rules pedantically. The one time Harry had gone to stay with them for summer and they'd been planning all sorts of pranks for the school year, deciding to get him in on testing some out on Percy.

The night they had surely become absolute legends, in their last year of Hogwarts, as they snatched their brooms and soared off. Leaving a magnificent show of fireworks behind them, cackling and giving each other high fives as they watched Umbridge being chased around by their stunning version of a giant dragon. George let out a sigh, moving to pick up Fred's old broomstick with tears in his eyes. He brushed the dust off of it, whipping out his wand to get rid of the mold that was scattered across the broom handle.

George could vividly remember Ginny talking to Percy one night, when she had thought he couldn't hear her. She had been expressing her confusion on why George hadn't moved the old broomstick yet, Fred had been gone for a year, so why couldn't he throw the blasted thing away yet? He let out yet another sigh at the memory, she was right, that was something he knew. He had to do _something_ with the broomstick. He couldn't throw it away though. No, he would _never_ do that to Fred. George let a wry smile slip onto his face, moving swiftly to through the house to find his broom maintenance supplies.

 _ **Turns out his cleaning wasn't done just yet.**_


	4. In the Moment

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 1534

Category: Short

Prompt(s): [Speech] "This is the moment you've been waiting for."

Year: Head

Additional: Overcoming the odds

* * *

The odds were _not_ in his favor.

That was the main thought running through Harry's head as he stood there in that moment.

In the middle of a grassy clearing in the forest, he was surrounded by Death Eaters, snickering at his stupidity. Voldemort was right in front of Harry, grinning ear to ear and pointing the elder wand at him. He had to curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw to stop himself from shaking. This was possibly the worst decision he had ever made.

If Harry was honest, there were doubts in his mind, but his parents and Sirius encouraged him, Remus too, who was always the voice of reason. Why wouldn't he trust them - what reason would they have to lie? Still, it didn't look good, because how would he come back from this one? How would the world react if it turned out this wasn't the right choice? If he ended up leaving the world without a hero to save them? The odds _definitely_ were not in his favor. But then again, when were they ever?

They definitely weren't in his favor in his first year, when he'd arrived at Hogwarts without hardly any knowledge of the wizarding world, only bits and pieces from Hagrid who was trying and failing to help Harry learn everything he'd need to know going into Hogwarts.

They weren't in his favor when he'd walked into his first transfiguration lesson late, and received a stern glare from McGonagall, sitting down sheepishly next to Ron and trying to ignore Hermione's scoff.

Definitely not when Snape had called on him in his first potions lesson and he'd had point deductions in the span of five minutes, all because Snape was asking him questions only Hermione seemed to know the answer to.

It was a miracle he'd even made it through Quidditch tryouts. With his luck he should have fallen off his broom, like Neville. But he'd done it, he'd survived and made it onto the team, caught the snitch at his first ever match, and managed to survive the jinx that was put onto his broom. He'd befriended Hermione despite the odds not being in favor of that friendship, and he'd managed to defeat Quirrell.

He'd beaten the less than stellar odds that year. It had to be a good start.

They weren't in his favor in second year either, when he'd started off the school year by flying a car into the whomping willow, or when they'd gotten an absolute idiot of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Gilderoy Lockhart. They'd learned almost nothing in that class, which was a shame since the former Ravenclaw had started a dueling club. One that got Harry's odds looking even worse after the first meeting, where he'd spoken in parseltongue, and gotten everyone to be somehow afraid of him.

It didn't help that he'd been hearing a strange voice in the halls, a voice that was out for blood, that seemed almost insane and inhuman. The voice had turned out to be a giant basilisk he would have to fight, whose venom also damaged his odds of saving Ginny Weasley.

Third year's odds were absolutely dismal.

He'd blown up Aunt Marge, and there was an insane mass-murderer on the loose. Harry had left the house, the Knight Bus picking him up and taking him right to where he wanted to go. Only to be met by the Minister of Magic, which had made his stomach queasy because _what if he got expelled, and got his wand snapped in half_? What would have happened then?

Then there was something he just _knew_ no one was telling him, not even the Weasleys, so he'd taken an opportunity and eavesdropped. The mass-murderer was after _him_ , which was a surprise because why would this deranged man go after _him_? He figured out what he thought was the truth later on, which only led to be even more deceptive because everyone had it all wrong. Sirius didn't get his name cleared, he'd taken off and left Harry behind. But, again, Harry had beaten the odds.

Fourth year started out looking absolutely clear of all evil. They would have a tournament, and Harry was too young to enter so obviously he wouldn't get picked. And they would be having a ball - he could ask Cho Chang, who he'd had a crush on. New students were arriving, the beautiful Beauxbatons students, and the dashing Durmstrang students. It was all new, and amazing, and exciting.

But the odds fell into disarray once again as a fourth name flew out of the goblet.

Somehow Harry knew before Dumbledore even read the name that it would be his own. After all, the universe just loved to make his life hell.

He became a champion, and to top it off, Ron was pissed at him. Hermione didn't want to take a side, and Rita Skeeter wouldn't leave him alone.

He'd nearly died battling a dragon, he'd almost been killed by merpeople from under the Black Lake, and, as if to add insult to injury, Cho Chang was going to the Yule Ball with _Cedric Diggory_. Harry had a terrible time at the ball, his stomach filled with dread as the final task drifted closer and closer.

And then the task arrived, a daunting maze that literally stood right in front of him. The worst part was that he had to go in first. But things were looking up, he was making it, he was almost there. Harry and Cedric made it to the cup at the same time, they had grabbed onto it together, grinning ear to ear. But it didn't work, it was wrong and the cup took them to a graveyard. Cedric died, Voldemort was winning their duel, and then he was back in the Quidditch Pitch.

Cheering ensued before the upbeat yelling turned to shocked and horrified screams.

Panic had ensued and when Harry had thought it was over - he had hoped it was _finally_ over - Moody was leading him away but _wait no_ it hadn't been right. This wasn't the real Moody, he was an imposter, he was a _Death Eater_ working for the Dark Lord. Harry's mind had spun in circles; it couldn't get any worse could it?

The odds only went on to get darker and more dangerous

The start of fifth year Harry had to cast a Patronus to keep the Dementors from taking away Dudley's soul. It didn't help that his relatives _and_ the Ministry thought that _he_ had hurt Dudley. Dumbledore helped him but then, again, the old wizard was also ignoring him, avoiding him throughout the school year.

The situation only made it worse because Harry was having visions and dreams that weren't from his perspective, it was from Voldemort's. Dumbledore was his only protection, and his odds were nothing short of dire now that the man wasn't even giving Harry the time of day.

Then Sirius died. But the world didn't care, the only thing that mattered was that Harry had survived.

He'd beaten the odds, even though others hadn't managed to do the same.

The odds - they were nothing short of terrible - weren't even something that Harry focused on in sixth year; there were things _much_ more important to focus on.

A war was coming.

Hedwig died, Moody died, George got his ear blown off. The burrow burned down, not beyond repair yet still the light was growing smaller as their numbers died off. There was one briefly happy note in all this, Bill and Fleur's wedding, which soon enough turned sour as the reception was attacked by Death Eaters.

Then Dumbledore was killed, Harry's mind had brought him back to the odds, Dumbledore was the only reason their odds weren't _that_ low. Now that the man was dead no where was safe, not even Hogwarts. He had to flee, Hermione and Ron following. Ron leaving due to jealousy at one point. Harry had then made it back, he was still alive in the first moments of the battle, he was beating the odds just by living.

He was brought back into the present, where he was standing before the man who'd been trying to kill him for seven years straight. A wry smile slid onto his face, because it was now or never.

"What's stopping you?" Harry started, his voice sounding more confident than he felt.

"This is the moment you've been waiting for." The Death Eaters cackled along with their lord, and the bright green light was hurtling towards him, but Harry couldn't bring himself to worry about the odds. He'd been beating the odds since he was a baby, and he kept beating them each year he was alive.

As he was enveloped in white light, he smiled, because, despite the fact that he was dying, despite the fact that he was in a purely white train station that seemed to be heaven and the odds weren't looking good, he _knew_ he could overcome them. Because it was his job to overcome the obstacles and less-than-appealing odds.

The odds were _not_ in his favor. But then again…

 _ **When had they ever been?**_


	5. Love Above All Else

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 871

Category: Standard

Prompt(s): [Weather] Misty

Year: Head

Additional: Love Conquers All

* * *

It was impossible for what they had to work out. Draco knew that, and, deep down, he had a feeling that Harry knew that too. They'd been secretly dating for a year and half before the war started, and faking their hatred was difficult. Yet they succeeded. Now, Harry was off hunting Horcruxes, and Draco was left alone at Hogwarts, surrounded by people who didn't _really_ know him.

He sighed as he looked up at the ceiling of the Slytherin dorms, wishing that Harry was laying in bed next to him, to keep him warm. He could keep away the cold that was seeping into his bones. He shook the thought away because it would never happen, they would never - no - _could_ never have a relationship. Not really. Draco let sleep take him because the dreams were better than the reality that kept knocking him down.

This was the beginning of a weird string of dreams. The first dream in the set was different, from all the others before and after it. It was misty, and he was still thinking as if he was in the dorm room. It was as if he wasn't dreaming at all, but that was a ludicrous thought. He decided to explore, trying in vain to see through his misty surroundings.

Then the mist cleared, though just barely, and there was a bench that he could see. He started walking towards it, only to see his surroundings crumble away, a voice breaking through the mist. It was warped and he couldn't tell where it was coming from.

 _Draco._

 _Draco!_

"Draco wake up! We're gonna be late!" His eyes shot open to see Blaise standing in front of him, he grumbled and quickly dressed rushing down to the great hall for breakfast and trying to ignore his odd dream. Though the atmosphere was so depressing throughout the rest of the day that he couldn't help but let his mind wander. He thought about the dream, about Harry. Because he knew if Harry were there, then the mood would have been so much more positive.

Each night rolled around quicker than the last, the misty surroundings becoming more familiar than anything else. He would always go sit on the bench and think about how love wasn't even worth it anymore. How it seemed like every couple on the light side of the war had broken up. His thoughts would wander to how much love mattered in this war, this war in which the villain knew nothing of love. Love was the one thing that had beaten Voldemort before, and Draco knew that the wizard was doing everything possible to make sure there was no love on the opposite side of the war.

Then he stopped sleeping, because there was simply no time for it anymore. The war had broken out, fighting ensued, it was absolute chaos. Draco had heard rumors that Harry was leading the battle. His heart fluttered before dropping in his chest as he remembered that there was no time for love. Not right now.

He was out fighting, trying to subtly help the light side all he could. Then there was a scream, a body colliding with his, and he was out. Instead of blackness, however, he was brought back to the misty land he had grown so familiar with. This time he was right next to the bench, tentatively he sat down and decided to let his mind wander. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching the bench and tried his best to ignore them. His eyes widened because this wasn't supposed to happen, this was his mind, why was there someone else here?

"Hey" Draco's head whipped to the side of him, seeing Harry. The brunette had sat down next to Draco on the bench, a wry smile on his face. Draco knew his lover was bringing solem news.

"It's going to be alright." That confused Draco because what did Harry mean? Was he consoling Draco for something? What was it?

It was almost like Harry could hear Draco's questions, or so it seemed to the blonde. The boy in glasses opened his mouth, but the words that came out were definitely not answers.

"I have to go, you do too." And with that the misty surroundings crumbled away, and Draco was awake again. His mother was shaking him, though she stopped when he started to cough.

They walked to meet the rest of the Death Eaters, Draco standing uncomfortably in their presence. Then he watched, stone faced, as his lover was paraded around in Hagrid's arms. Dead. This was what he was consoling Draco for. But he was _dead_ , how would everything be alright?

He willed his face not to fall, he couldn't show his sadness. Not now at least. It was too dangerous. Then something truly magical and miraculous happened. Harry leapt out of Hagrid's arms and started firing curses.

Every moment after that was almost like a blur, Draco had been too relieved, too shocked to move. He only came back to the present when Harry wrapped his arms around the blonde. Draco smiled into the embrace. One single thought was on his mind.

 _ **Love really was the strongest magic.**_


	6. Why Gold?

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 1005

Category: Standard

Prompt(s): [Colour] Gold

Additional: Feature a member from your house

Year: Head

* * *

Gold was a color that he absolutely despised. There was no doubt about it in his mind, the color was, in his opinion, a menace. Gold was a color dedicated to the house of the brave, to those loud, obnoxious, overly dramatic Gryffindors. The people who had made his time at Hogwarts almost hell. And so he presumed his hatred of the color stemmed from the people who had been associated with it his whole life. Another thing he was fairly sure of, was that no one else had a bigger hatred for the color than he did. Well, other than Severus Snape, who loathed the color to no end, and for similar reasons.

Let's just say Gilderoy Lockhart was _not_ a fan of the color gold. Which is why he was questioning his decision to take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts post that year; it was foolish, now that he thought about it. He had to teach those in golden uniforms and outfits for hours on end each day, and despite their outfits having red too, the gold was the only thing he could focus on. Much of his time was spent trying to hide his immense dislike of the wretched color. His strategy had been to try and ignore the students who bore the color, and instead focus on the other students, who were dressed in colors like green, or blue. This tactic had one problem, as he'd been trying to get close to Harry Potter, which was immensely difficult, as the boy's outfit bore the color that Gilderoy despised so much.

Gilderoy loathed the color so much that he made sure none of his clothing had even the tiniest hint of the color. He felt a student had caught on, as a pair of them had sent him an entire golden outfit once, mentioning how they were big fans of his in the letter that had come with the clothing. He wore the outfit, less than happily, because it would not do well to disappoint his fans. He felt like he'd worn more gold in the castle then he'd ever worn before in his life.

The news of a monster in the castle, and a girl being taken was horrifying; the crimson blood dripping down the walls proved to be an absolutely terrifying sight. The terror got his mind off of the gold that was all around him for a short while, though not for quite as long as he'd hoped. He ran to pack his bags as soon as he was told he'd have to go after the monster himself, relief washing briefly over him as he thought he'd be out of danger and away from gold for good now. Running away was something he knew how to do better than anyone. Yet, gold showed up again, in the form of Harry Potter and his redheaded friend, who's name Gilderoy couldn't bother remembering.

They forced him to go with them down into the Chamber of Secrets, taking away his wand and leaving him scared and annoyed with the two children. The two talked among themselves, about him almost as if Gilderoy wasn't even there and that's when he decided to do what he'd done to all the great wizards he'd faced before. Obliviate them. He'd acted quickly and snatched the wand from the redhead, ignoring the tape and the warning bells ringing in his head. The signs that seemed to scream something isn't right, this won't work, _Danger!_ He let them drift to the back of his mind as he casted the spell. A smile on his face before it all went fuzzy.

When he came back to, he was more than confused. What had happened? Who was he, _where_ was he? Who was this redheaded child dressed in odd robes? Who was this young boy shouting to, it couldn't possibly be the walls. Why were they in a dark area and when would they go into the light? The questions plagued his mind, and his heart warmed a little as the redheaded boy tried helping him. The boy kept getting an odd look on his face, however. When it happened his features scrunched up, or he rolled his eyes, it made him look odd and Gilderoy didn't know if the child knew that. These things only added to the confusion.

They were there for a while, though for how long Gilderoy couldn't tell. He couldn't tell much except that the redheaded boy had a bunch of freckles and cursed a lot. They were joined later by another boy, this one bearing glasses and holding a redheaded girl. They were probably who the first boy had been yelling to.

Things happened in a blur after that. Gilderoy, or at least that's what they said his name was, had been taken to an odd place. It was big, and every surface seemed to be covered in white, though there was the odd speck of red or blue lining the halls. He was put into a blue bed; a light blue pillow and dark blue covers were all he'd know for a good while. His was a bed that was towards the end of a row of beds that looked exactly the same as his. He admired whomever had designed this room, they had paid good attention to detail.

He got visitor after visitor, telling him about who he was and what he'd done. None of it brought back any of his memories, though, much to the dismay of the visitors. There were some who he enjoyed talking to, who he felt dressed very well. Others he decided he didn't like as much, though they talked the same way, their clothes were all sorts of horrid colors. It was so very confusing, why didn't anything make sense? And yet, if there was one thing he knew for certain, as he got visitor after visitor and looked at the clothes they were wearing.

 _ **It was that he absolutely**_ **despised** _**the color gold.**_


	7. Not Lucky Enough

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 276

Category: Drabble

Prompt(s): [Colour] Crimson

Year: Head

* * *

Crimson was a color that seemed to be all around him now. A color that made him feel like vomiting - one that actually _had_ made him vomit a couple times. It surrounded him, his family, the manor. These days, it was as though everything he saw was drenched in crimson. He wanted to escape it, wanted to leave it all behind, to have nothing to do with their family name, or their stupid legacy.

He figured out quickly that he wasn't that lucky.

His father was having none of _that_ , and so his arm was marked, and every now and again he'd get a terrifying reminder of what he had to do. His Aunt had made it painfully clear what would happen if he failed, if he couldn't gather up the courage to destroy the biggest threat his family's cause faced. He hoped maybe completing the task would put an end to the crimson.

He knew deep down that he wasn't that lucky.

Then he saw Potter, and felt sick because that boy with whom he'd had a rivalry with for so long would hate him even more after what he had to do. He ran to the bathrooms and splashed water on his face, trying to hide the tears that seemed to stick to his skin. If he scrubbed hard enough, perhaps he could wash the crimson away too.

When he saw him, Potter flipped out, and shot a curse that covered Draco in crimson. Hope flourished in him because maybe this would finally be it. Maybe this crimson pool that was spreading around him would finally make _everything_ go away.

 _ **He wasn't that lucky.**_


	8. Allergies

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 264

Category: Drabble

Prompt(s): [Speech] "You weren't supposed to see that,"

Year: Head

* * *

Teddy Lupin was allergic to a lot of things. Pollen, tulips, peanuts, and many other things he didn't care to name. He was perfectly fine with letting people know about almost all of his allergies because there wasn't really a harm in them knowing. But there was one allergy he'd sworn to never tell anyone.

He was allergic to chocolate.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of this allergy, or that he thought he'd get laughed at if he told anyone. It was that every time he would get chocolate, for his birthday or any holidays, he would take it to his father's grave, and he would leave it there. Teddy knew how much his father had loved chocolate while he had been alive.

This was what Teddy was doing one night, right after Christmas. He crept out of the house and practically sprinted in the freezing cold all of the way to his father's grave. He laid the chocolate down, like every time before, and just sat on the grass for a few moments.

Snow crunching behind him alerted Teddy to the fact that someone was approaching the grave from behind him. He turned his body around in the snow, seeing his godfather, with his glasses askew, smiling wryly down at him. Teddy's mind went into overdrive - what would Harry think, would he be okay with this?

"You weren't supposed to see that," he said, the first thing in his mind, to break the semi-awkward silence that hung between them. His godfather's eyes filled with tears, as he whispered a reply.

 _ **"** **I know."**_


	9. Celos

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 787

Category: Standard

Prompt(s): [Action] Sneaking out of the house

Year: Head

* * *

If she was being completely and truly honest, Narcissa Malfoy would have to admit she'd always been extremely envious of the close relationship between her two older sisters. Her sisters, who had used to be so very alike in every single way imaginable - with their dark hair and almost untamable curls, porcelain skin and rosy cheeks. Both with their almost-identical wide, dark, doe-like eyes, they who were so very curious of the world around them. Loving to explore the back gardens, they used to sneak out at night to see it together. Sitting and laughing, talking about whatever they pleased without having to worry about getting interrupted, or getting told off. They shared almost everything, be it clothes, or secrets, it didn't matter.

Narcissa didn't have anyone like that.

She could vividly remember being praised by her parents so many times for not causing trouble during tutoring time, the satisfaction gotten from that being ripped away so very quickly as she would _always_ realize what that meant. Andromeda and Bellatrix had switched places with each other again, something they did obnoxiously often, aggravating their governess to no end. One would sneak out to go do something fun, while the other took the class they'd already taken that day. The next day they would switch, and some days they wouldn't at all. They were partners in crime, both a half of one strongly united whole that seemed almost unbreakable.

Narcissa didn't have a partner in crime. She had no one who would sneak out at night with her, no one to be discreet with. No one to share any secrets she might have had with.

Things changed, however, when they entered Hogwarts, though they were still impossibly close, Narcissa could finally see that they were drifting apart. No one else did though. The girls both got Slytherin, which was another likeness, one that everyone noticed. She was still glad though; Hogwarts was making cracks in the relationship and showing the huge differences between her two sisters. One time, she could remember that she'd caught Andromeda sneaking out, without Bella by her side, half of the way out of the kitchen door when Narcissa spotted her. It was something that was extremely odd her sneaking out without Bella, because they _always_ snuck out together. Andromeda noticed her finally, only to tell her that she couldn't, under any circumstances, tell Bella that she was sneaking out without her. She remembered the sharp pang of sadness that ran through her at that.

Narcissa didn't have anyone to keep secrets from.

As time passed the differences only grew and they were _finally_ separate people - not that anyone _really_ noticed. There was Bella, with her dark beauty and warped mind, filled with blood prejudice and hatred, her love for the Dark Arts and everything that came with it taking over her personality. And there was Andromeda, who was charming and loving, who was always full of laughter and kindness, always available with a smile or a hug to make people feel better. Andromeda who was absolutely vivacious. Yet, the two were still close. Closer than Narcissa would ever be to either of them. They still snuck out sometimes, to sit in the garden and laugh about their wild, insane adventures, old and new.

Narcissa didn't have anyone to share any of her adventures with.

She couldn't help but feel a bitter satisfaction when Andromeda left and was burnt off the tapestry for good, her name the only thing left besides the memories. She could remember that feeling turning so quickly to guilt, when Bella said she was glad to see her sister go. That a blood traitor didn't belong in the family. Turning from guilt to sadness because her sisters who had been so close up until that point, now wanted _nothing_ to do with each other. She was glad for once.

Because Narcissa didn't have anything like that.

That was all in the past, however; the years of sneaking out, the years of chaos and turmoil, the war was _finally_ over, everyone was reconnecting and rebuilding. She figured it would only be right if she did the same. So she invited Andromeda over for tea, they were family after all, it was time they started acting like it. Narcissa sat anxiously in her soft green chair, waiting for her older sister to arrive. Seeing the woman walk through the door cautiously made her heart almost stop beating, this woman who still looked so much like Bella, but who opened her mouth and let a warm greeting slip out, so unlike their wild older sister. Narcissa, tears welling up in her eyes, could only utter one thing in response.

" _ **I'm so, so, sorry."**_


	10. The Winner takes it all

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 767

Category: Standard

Prompt(s): [Negative Pairing] Charlie Weasley/Bill Weasley

Addition: Includes a letter or a note.

Year: Head

* * *

 _ **Dear Charlie,**_

A red-headed child sat in the living room, next to his older brother Bill, both boys drawing dragons on old pieces of parchment they'd found in the attic. They giggled and shared their crayons, a muggle invention their father insisted they use. Charlie had wanted to use the markers that Bill had been given, but their father had said he wasn't old enough yet to understand how they worked, which he thought was a load of absolute rubbish.

"Mine's got spikes!" Exclaimed Bill happily.

"That's so cool! Mine only has a long tail."

"But yours looks more realistic Charlie, I think it's awesome!"

Their mother walked in quietly, a smile curling her lips upwards as she saw the two getting along. She peered over their shoulders, a gasp falling out of her mouth at Charlie's picture, the spitting image of an actual dragon. It looked exactly like the moving images in her old Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook, something she was positively astonished by. Their attention flicked towards her, bright smiles on their faces as they stood up, drawings in hand.

 _ **We've been**_ _ **fighting**_ _**competing since we were young, as you very well know.**_

"Momma, Momma! Look what I drew!" Charlie shouted excitedly, Bill holding up his picture too, both extremely proud. The boys' eyes lit up in happiness and pride - they looked so much like their uncles that it was near-insane. Molly cast her eyes over the two drawings happily, finding that her youngest son was better at drawing, though swearing not to tell either of them this fact.

"Which one do you like best Momma?" Charlie asked, watching as his mother's gaze flicked quickly to his picture and then back to her sons. They stood in silence, breathe held for her answer, Charlie's eyes hopeful, mirroring Bill's.

 _ **Each of us trying our hardest to be seen as the best in Mum's eyes.**_

"They're both amazing." Her reply was soft and kind, though strained in a way that made it seem like she was stalling. Bill and Charlie looked at each other for a second, communicating almost telepathically. They squinted at each other, nodded, and then turned back towards their mother, who could do nothing but smile awkwardly.

"But which is _better_?" Bill asked, the corners of his lips turning down slightly. Their mother only looked away with a hesitant laugh. She left the room, mumbling something about hanging both pictures on their fridge. The two boys just shrugged and continued drawing, this time goblins instead of dragons.

 _ **But I think that maybe now, since we're older, wiser, and more mature...**_

Charlie smiled fondly at his dragon picture, the one he'd drawn so long ago. He'd framed it when he moved away, taking it from its spot at the top of their fridge. The location of his picture was something that clued both him and Bill into who's drawing their Mum _really_ thought was better. She put Charlie's at eye level, Bill's only just below that, they assumed it meant she wanted her youngest's to be the first thing she saw.

His gaze moved towards the mail that lay on his table in a large heap. It had been delivered by his owl, who was accompanied by Errol, whose body had slammed into the glass window instead of flying gracefully through it. He let out a soft sigh, picking up a rather fancy letter, turning it over and raising a brow.

 _ **our little game will finally be put to a peaceful end. Because frankly...**_

The dragon tamer ripped it open, looking at the neatly folded paper that lay inside. It was an invitation, he realized, as he began reading it. To the wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour, the second of whom he swore he'd met before. His brother and Fleur were to be married he realized, the latter of which had to have written the invite; the handwriting was _far_ too neat to belong to his brother. He felt annoyance fill him quickly, a plan forming in his mind.

He slammed the invitation down on the counter with an angry growl. Charlie knew he should feel happy for his brother, but all he could feel was a sense of loss and resentment. It just wasn't fair, it should have been against the rules. Sadly, they hadn't made a rule book. Something he was greatly regretting now. The red-head sighed, storming towards his closet to try and find an appropriate outfit for the occasion. Hoping that he would, maybe, be able to steal the spotlight, just for a little bit.

 _ **I've won.**_


	11. Just Like Lily

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 1489

Category: Standard

Prompt(s): [Weather] Torrential Downpour

Year: Head

 **Warning: I'm sure this strays from canon in some way shape or form.**

* * *

The rain poured down on him as he held up his coat to try and protect himself. The drops felt like ice cold daggers, seeping into his skin, chilling his bones. He should have followed Ginny's advice and brought an umbrella. In his defense, Harry hadn't expected it to begin raining. He'd only apparated to Diagon Alley to clear his mind, and it _had_ been nice out - sun shining, not a cloud in the sky. Maybe that's what should have clued him in.

It had started quickly and without warning, raining so hard that Harry's clothes were soaked in seconds. It was less than ideal but still better than being cooped up in The Burrow with the random family members Molly had over. They'd seen Harry's mother and father in passing during their Hogwarts years and kept telling him how much he looked like his father, but how there was still that little bit of Lily.

"You've got her eyes, you know." He would smile, of _course,_ he knew. That's all he'd been hearing since he'd began his journey at Hogwarts. If he were eleven he would've been ecstatic to hear people telling him how much he looked like them. But he was quite honestly sick of hearing it.

The rain was coming down almost impossibly harder than before - faster and more piercing. This downpour had ruined his plans of walking around. His mind was a mess still, but he needed to find some shelter - the little overhang near Gringotts looked perfect, he couldn't go back to The Burrow, not yet. He took off, coat over his head - it reminded him of being nine and running home in the rain.

He collided with someone and stumbled as he tried to keep his balance. A small groan from the ground made him realize he'd knocked a woman over. Her umbrella was off to the side, beginning to fill with water. He quickly offered his hand, helping the dazed woman off the street. She sighed and brushed off her raincoat, any dirt from the street being brushed away as the rain pelted down upon her. She leaned over quickly and picked up her umbrella, muttering a quick charm before putting it over her head and Harry's. They walked silently to cover before she put the umbrella away and finally took a better look at him.

Harry prepared himself for the normal response. Eyes widening, hands moving to cover their mouth.

" _I should have known._ " She whispered to herself, as she looked up - a laugh escaping her lips, and Harry wondered if this was another response to seeing someone who was 'famous' like he was. Though he didn't like to think of it as fame, all he did was fulfill a prophecy - and yet, he was one of the most famous people in all of the wizarding world. She looked back at him.

"You're _exactly_ like Lily." He was shocked and confused by her statement. He'd surely heard her wrong over the downpour that was feet away. He quirked an eyebrow because that couldn't be all.

"Merlin, even your facial expressions are just like hers." She muttered quietly.

"She did that too," she began, gesturing to his confused face. "Her nose would scrunch up like yours when she was confused. She would always quirk her left eyebrow, just like you do." He was shocked, wondering if the woman was lying because he'd never heard this before. Not even from Sirius who had known both his parents extremely well.

"Who are you?" He asked, slightly suspicious because surely this woman was lying. She _had_ to be.

"Oh, I'm Mary Macdonald." His left brow quirked before he could stop it, and he felt a pang of doubt. Still, her name meant nothing if he didn't know what relation she had to his parents.

"Lily was one of my best friends." She said with a soft, sad smile - eyes glossy as she rifled through her bag - giving a soft ' _aha_ ' when she'd found what she was looking for. She handed a small piece of paper over to him, which he turned over carefully, eyes widening when he saw what the little moving picture showed. It was his mother, Neville's mum, a woman he didn't know, and Mary. They were young, not possibly over second years, and they were standing in front of the Gryffindor Common room, laughing with each other. It was his turn for tears to well up in his eyes.

He brushed them away with a smile before moving to hand the photograph back to Mary. But the woman only smiled and shook her head.

"You keep it." And the overwhelming urge to cry took over again. He sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Do you want to grab a Butterbeer?" He asked, hoping she would be able to tell him more intimate details about his mother that even Remus hadn't known. That no one had been able to tell him before. She smiled knowingly before nodding, opening her umbrella again before they stepped out into the rain.

The Leaky Cauldron was warm compared to the chilling rain outside, but maybe that was because Harry was feeling happy again. And everything seemed better now that he wasn't in such a foul mood.

"How am I just like Mum? I mean, don't I look like almost exactly like Dad?" She smiled, nodding, because his question was fair.

"It's not the way you look Harry, it's how you carry yourself. Your posture, the way you walk, your facial expressions. All of that mirror's Lily almost perfectly. And you of course have her eyes, though I'm sure you've heard that a million times." He was practically beaming at that point, because _finally_. Here was someone who knew his parents, his _mum_ , really well. Who'd shared a dorm with her and been one of her best friends.

"Was it love at first sight, or-" He began to ask, eyes widening at the laugh that escaped the petite woman's lips. It became uncontrollable and he could help but smile as he watched her clutch her sides.

"Definitely not." He was somewhat startled. "He wasn't quite the kindest person for a long while. I think she only stopped ignoring him and his advances towards the end of fifth year."

He was glad for her honesty, knowing that he wouldn't have heard something like this from Remus or Sirius, because they were his Dad's friends; surely they would make it seem like James was better than he _actually_ was.

"He always loved her though." Mary said with a smile, finishing off her Butterbeer, and beginning to pack her things. Harry quirked his brow again, now overly conscious of the fact that he was doing something quite similar to his Mum. She handed him a slip of paper, to which he took and looked at it. _An address._

"In case you want to owl with questions, or would like to meet up again to talk more about what your Mum was like." He wanted to ask why she couldn't stay longer, why she had to leave so early.

"I have to get back home, my cat will ruin the furniture if I don't feed her in time." He smiled, wondering if a hug was in order. _No,_ he told himself, _he hadn't known her that long yet._ And with that she was gone. Disappearing into the downpour outside, no trace of her ever being there apart from the moving picture in his pocket. A sigh escaped his lips, as he apparated back to The Burrow.

Ginny saw him first, rushing off the couch to give him a bone-crushing hug. Her eyes shone with understanding, however, as if she knew exactly why he'd left. Ron was the next to spot him, eyebrows raising as he smelled the perfume that was on Harry's coat.

"Are you-" He began, waving Hermione over. Harry caught what he was saying. Shaking his head he motioned for them to follow him up to his room. They all sat on the floor in a circle, kind of like they used to do back when they were still teens.

"So I met this woman, right." Ron's eyes narrowed, opening his mouth to speak though being cut off by Hermione elbowing him in the side. She motioned her hand, a silent _continue._

"And she knew my Mum, she was her dorm mate. One of her closest friends." Hermione beamed at him.

"Harry that's great!" He smiled, unable to focus solely on the conversation due to all the questions circling in his mind. He pulled out the little piece of paper with her address, figuring he'd write a letter asking her all the questions later. He knew Hermione was right, because he'd already learned so much about his mother from just one meeting with Mary, surely he would know more with more meetings and exchanged letters.

" _ **It really is."**_


	12. What I'm Gonna Say May Sound Indelicate

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 1586

Category: Short

Prompt(s): [Word] indelicate [Object] Mason Jar

Year: Head

 **Warning:** **This is AU-ish. As we never see this in the books, but know it could have possibly happened. Also some things with the potions I don't think are factually accurate to the possibilities in the book, yet for story purposes I added them.**

* * *

Severus Snape was one of the most indelicate teachers in all of Hogwarts, and he knew that. He knew he was brash, harsh rude, insensitive, and he knew his students most likely feared him. But it didn't bother him, not as much as it bothered the other teachers, or as much as it bothered the students either. He knew he was indelicate, and he loved it. He didn't have to be kind, or tell a student their potion was perfect when it wasn't, just to spare their feeling because it wasn't his reputation. They didn't expect to be treated delicately, and thus they didn't make as many mistakes. He was indelicate and he was _proud_ of it. However, no one quite understood that.

Well, no one but Luna Lovegood. He would always remember the first time she'd been in his class, her silvery curls bouncing as she skipped to her seat. The other students acted as if she was insane, because didn't she know how harsh Snape was, how cruel and uncaring he acted? She _had_ to have heard something from her fellow Ravenclaws. After all, he was quite harsh on them. If they were as smart as they believed then they would make their potions almost perfectly, or at least in his eyes they would. And yet, her silvery-blue eyes still shone with excitement on the day of her first Potions lesson.

Still, he set a rather tough first task to complete. The Herbicide Potion, a potion which he was sure would go disastrously in some way or another. After all, he had the odd Ravenclaw girl in his class, _something_ would go wrong. Then they began to make the potion, students rushing around with ingredients, handling their jars without a shred of caution. He'd dreaded looking her way, not wanting to see what horrors were taking place at her desk. But looking at Luna Lovegood left him shocked. He was surprised at how delicately she handled the mason jars of ingredients, how much attention she put into how long she crushed the first two ingredients.

She was talented. Anyone could see that. Though it was curious to him that she'd taken out extra ingredients, he still left it alone, because surely she wouldn't mess up that late in the game. He watched as she rushed to the storage cupboard, skipping quickly over there and then back to her table, emptying some of her cauldron into a little flask before waving her wand and cleaning the rest away. He hid his interest, sitting at his desk and peeking discreetly at what the girl was doing every now and again. She was doing something with the ingredients, what it was he couldn't tell. And so he left it alone, supervising the other students and making harsh remarks as he passed them.

Finally class was over, some students looking quite close to tears from what their teacher had indelicately said. He took a bundle of flowers from his storage cupboard, moving around to each table in turn to test their Herbicide Potion. Finally, he stopped at Luna's desk, trying to hide his surprise at the fact that she was beaming up at him. He looked at the odd substance in her cauldron with a raised eyebrow, but she only continued to smile. A sigh escaped his lips. He opened his mouth as if to say something snide, a cutting comment, but figured he mind as well test her potion first.

He took the flower and dropped two drops onto it, as should have done the trick. _Astounding_ , he couldn't help but think as it worked perfectly. Not a single hiccup or hitch, it did it's job wonderfully. She took the flower from his hands, as he stood stock still, eyes glaring slightly down at her. Luna dipped it into her potion on a spoon, waiting ten seconds before pulling it out again. His eyes went wide. The flower was back to normal, it actually looked _healthier_ than before he'd poured the Herbicide Potion on it. She giggled. He was tempted to ask her in front of the whole class why she'd done that, why she'd taken the time to make another potion that reversed the effects of the one they were tasked with. Though he supposed it would be better to ask her without so many people to distract her.

The students left in a hurry, no doubt afraid of what staying longer would earn them. Detention, most likely. He supposed being indelicate had it's perks, the students didn't dilly dally, and they always got their work in. Snape was about to ask her to stay behind, but before he could she began going around desk to desk, delicately picking up the mason jars full of ingredients and bringing them back to his storage cupboard. Then she picked up the flower and began to leave the room.

"Miss Lovegood." He began, his voice a low drawl. She turned around instantly, a quirky little smile still on her face.

"Yes Professor?" She said it as if she was talking to any other teacher, one who wasn't as indelicate as he was, who wasn't as insensitive, one who was kinder to the students. If he hadn't known already, that would have been the moment he noticed she was different. But, in all honesty, he'd almost known she'd be different from the moment she skipped into the classroom.

"Why, might I ask, did you choose to create a second potion?" He was sure his words, to any other student, would have been seen as biting and harsh. But Luna's face just lit up even more, her eyes shining brightly.

"Well, I didn't quite like the energy the Herbicide Potion gave off." He was honestly somewhat shocked at her response. Perhaps, he just hadn't heard her correctly.

"The _what_?"

"The energy, sir. It gave off a terribly evil aura too." He had to have been hallucinating, surely a student wasn't mumbling to _him_ about energies and auras. Didn't she understand that he was the last person to care about that? Surely she would be better placed telling someone like Professor Flitwick, or perhaps even Professor Sprout. He didn't quite understand why she hadn't made up some excuse like he was sure the other students would have.

"Besides," she began, "it's an awfully useful flower. It'd be a waste to let it stay dead." He quirked an eyebrow, watching as she delicately took the flower out of her bag and set it on his desk. _Curious,_ he thought.

"Why did you place it on my desk?" She let out a tinkling laugh at his question, not at all fazed by his lack of tact or his blunt statements.

"It keeps the Wrackspurts away," she began with a smile, "I think it would be better in your classroom than in my bag." He was shocked at her knowledge, having heard many times from Professor Sprout about the properties of this specific flower. Flitwick telling him once about the effects Wrackspurts had on people.

"Thank you, Miss Lovegood. You may leave." He wasn't surprised at all when she curtsied before beginning to walk away, her odd acts something he was sure was normal for her. He looked back to the flower on his desk, wondering faintly what he should do with it. Because surely someone as indelicate as he was wouldn't be able to keep the flower healthy.

"Oh! It works better if you put it into a mason jar!" She called from the doorway, waving at him before leaving the classroom. He smiled, now that he was alone he could muse over the oddity that was Luna Lovegood. It was odd to him, mainly because he saw so much of himself in her. She was just as talented - if not more talented than he was at her age. Her skill with potions' making something he was sure would benefit her in the future. She was ready to learn, excited about it even. Something he absolutely shared with her, he'd always loved to learn about new things to do with magic.

It was odd to him, not because of the similarities, however, but because of their differences. He saw so much in her that was similar to him, which was astounding _because_ they were so different. She was bright and bubbly, happy all the time. Luna handled things with tact and care, treated others equally, delicately. Whereas he had a reputation for being the most indelicate person in all of Hogwarts. Having a very prominent bias against any house other than his.

He stood up, robes swishing as he walked towards the storage cupboard. Despite her oddities, he found himself intrigued to see what she would do next. Grabbing an empty mason jar from the top shelf, he mused over what would happen at her next lesson. Whatever it was he was sure it would be, unique, to say the least. He left the cupboard, closing the door softly before heading back to his desk. He placed the flower into the mason jar, putting the lid on top and sliding it to the front corner of his desk. He smiled for the second time. Because with Luna he finally knew something positive about his students. For the first time in a while, he could honestly say with confidence, that she would do amazing things. Though he was sure she would do it in some odd, unheard of way.

 _ **She would do it her way.**_


	13. Mourning the Lost

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 647

Category: Drabble

Additional: _A sad occasion/moment/emotion_

Prompt(s): [Theme] Family

Year: Head

* * *

Petunia Dursley sat in her armchair, near the television. She didn't know why, but she just couldn't fall asleep that night. Her son was safe, her husband sleeping soundly, and yet there she sat, tapping her fingers impatiently. A tremor ran through her pale form, and her eyes shot to the grandfather clock near the doorway. _Something's wrong._

She shook her head, surely she was just overtired. Surely she was just jittery from the oddity of the news that day.

Having enough of just sitting idly, she decided it would be best to clear her mind. Distract herself, if only for a few moments, from the unidentifiable panic that was rising in her chest. She moved to the kitchen, preparing herself a cup of warm milk, before moving back up to her bedroom. Her hands shook as she downed the cup and slid back into bed. She closed her eyes, hoping for sleep, but to no avail.

The dim lights from the streetlamps outside her windows provided something to focus on, and so she concentrated on the warm light that seeped through her eyelids. The gripping feeling of panic melded into something closer to anguish, though she couldn't quite tell why.

 _Focus,_ she told herself, trying to calm her mind and bring her thoughts back to the warm lighting. It _was_ working, until the lights suddenly went out.

Her eyes shot open, though she didn't dare move. Fear and anguish gripped her because this surely wasn't natural.

 _Something's wrong,_ her mind whispered. She looked to her left to see Vernon still fast asleep, deciding it would be best to check on her little Dudley before she tried to go back to sleep. Her feet padded softly on the ground, the slippers protecting her feet from the cold floor. She creaked open the door to her son's room, looking in briefly before letting out a sigh of relief.

 _He's safe,_ she tried to tell herself.

 _Nothing is wrong,_ she repeated over and over as she moved back towards her bedroom. _But what if something is?_

She stopped above the stairwell, hearing three sharp knocks, and a ring of the doorbell. Vernon rushed out of their bedroom, catching Petunia off guard and making her jump. When she had somewhat calmed her racing heart, they crept towards the door together, Petunia trying to fight off the feeling of dread that was washing over her. Summoning up as much courage as she possibly could she slammed the door open, looking out at the little bundle that lay on her doorstep, startled.

And in that moment, Petunia crumbled. Because she _knew_ what this meant. She knew exactly why this little boy was here, despite Vernon's attempts at other, more normal reasoning. Perhaps - he said - her sister was just sending him over to be looked after for the night. She tried to believe him; she wanted so badly to believe him. A little letter was carefully crafted, written in flowing cursive, beautiful to the point of deception. But this wasn't Lily's handwriting.

With shaking hands, and glossy eyes, she opened the envelope. Pulling out the letter with a pale face, scanning over only the first sentence before breaking down. Crying over her sister because she was _gone._ Bright, brilliant, spectacular Lily, was gone from this world forever. She sobbed, holding onto little Harry as if he were the most precious thing in the world.

This would be one of the only times she would get to do this, she knew that much. She knew exactly why that man had brought him here. So he wouldn't grow up full of himself, so he'd be humble. But right now, they'd both lost an important part of their family. He began to cry in her arms, and the two just sat there. The future would run its course in due time. For now…

 _ **They just mourned.**_


	14. Wise Witches

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 1106

Category: Standard

Addition: _Representing your houses traits (Ravenclaw, Wisdom)_

Prompt(s): [Spell] Geminio

Year: Head

* * *

Hermione Granger sat in the library, her third year of Hogwarts taking somewhat of a toll on her. She had been taking more classes than usual, and she felt it was time for her to relax in the library for a while. Dumbledore - who seemed to have nothing better to do - was searching through the library. She supposed he could just have been checking up on everything, making sure it was alright. It was better, she decided, not to dwell on it for too long. Red hair appeared at her side, and for a brief moment, she wondered if Ron had come to join her.

Once she turned her head to the side, however, she saw that it wasn't her friend. Ginny stood there, wringing her hands nervously, and Hermione wondered faintly if she was intimidating the smaller girl. Hermione quirked an eyebrow, as if to implore Ginny to speak up. The gesture was met only with small fidgeting and even more silence. Hermione let out a sigh before closing ' _The Tales of the Beedle and the Bard_ ' and looking over at Ginny.

"Can I help you?" she asked, feeling a small urge to cringe at how overly formal she sounded.

Ginny finally made eye contact with Hermione, her eyes rather wide and somewhat terrified. She opened her mouth, though she spoke so quietly Hermione couldn't understand what she was saying. She raised her eyebrows questioningly, and this time Ginny spoke louder.

"I was wondering if I could borrow that book from you," she asked.

Hermione let out a sigh. This was supposed to be a time for her to relax, and she hadn't finished the book yet. She debated whether or not she should just say no and send the girl away. But she remembered all the little Weasley had gone through last year. She supposed Ginny would need it more than she would. Hermione's gaze moved from the book, landing on the girl's freckled face. If you didn't look too closely you would think she and Ron were twins, she mused. And in that moment, an idea came to her.

She looked down at the book, standing up and pulling her wand out. Hermione pointed it at the book, a smile on her face as she remembered what she'd been reading only a few hours earlier.

"Geminio," she said firmly, and she watched in awe as the book in front of her duplicated itself.

She picked up the duplicate - or at least what she believed to be the duplicate - and handed it to Ginny. Her eyes lit up, and she seemed in just as much awe as Hermione had been only seconds before. A mumbled thank you escaped her lips before she ran off to some other part of the library. Hermione smiled and turned back to her spot in the book, absolutely entranced by the stories.

"That was very wise of you Miss Granger," came a soft voice from behind her.

She let out a small yelp as she turned in her seat, not having expected anyone to come up behind her so soon after Ginny had gone. Dumbledore looked down at her with a twinkle in his eye, something that told her he was amused at her reaction. She looked at him curiously, turning towards her book for a second. She frowned.

"Sir I'm not…" She trailed off as she looked around, finding the headmaster gone. Hermione shook her head, turning back to her book with a small smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She couldn't focus though, Dumbledore's words echoing through her mind. Because how could _she_ be wise? Wisdom was for Ravenclaws, for those who were years and years ahead of her, for people like Dumbledore.

The bell sounded, breaking Hermione out of her trance. She sighed, putting the book back on its shelf and moving towards the Great Hall. Ron and Harry talked with each other, leaving Hermione to space out, questions swirling through her mind.

She began leaving with the rest of the students, before being pulled aside by Professor Flitwick, and of course Dumbledore. She walked with the teachers in silence, wondering faintly if she'd done anything wrong. Surely she'd not broken any rules or violated the agreements of being allowed a time turner. So why, she wondered faintly, had she been pulled aside. They stopped outside Dumbledore's office. The older man uttered something Hermione couldn't hear before the three of them walked in.

"Filus and I," began Dumbledore, "conversed over dinner, and since you've shown advanced charmwork - not only today but in the past as well - we've decided you will be allowed to move up a year in Charms. If you want, of course."

Hermione felt like sighing in relief - she hadn't done anything wrong and wouldn't be getting in any trouble.

She pondered over the offer for a second, remembering Ron and Harry who were practically lost without her in their Charmswork. The right thing was to help them, or at least the most she could. Hermione realized if she moved up a year they would only ask her for more help.

"I'll have to decline the offer," she told them.

Flitwick sighed, though he offered her a smile before leaving the office. Perhaps, she supposed, she should do the same. Questions from earlier swirled through her mind, and she pondered on whether or not she should ask them.

"Sir, what did you mean by wise?" she asked, unable to fight the curiosity. Dumbledore smiled at her.

"What do you mean Miss Granger?"

"Isn't wisdom for Ravenclaws, for people with lots of knowledge, people who aren't _me_?"

He only continued to smile, eyes twinkling beneath his half-moon spectacles. As if he knew she would ask that, as if he was prepared for this.

"Wisdom, Miss Granger, is the quality of having experience, knowledge, _and_ good judgement."

She quirked a brow at him, as if asking him to continue, because she quite frankly didn't understand.

"You have shown this quality many times, most recently when you used the duplication spell in the Library."

She looked down, furrowing her eyebrows as she processed this information. If she was right, he was saying that wisdom went far beyond her book smarts, or ability to perform magic. He was saying it was all about knowing when to say and do things, when to use the knowledge you gained.

"So I'm wise?" she finally asked, looking up at the professor.

His smile grew, eyes crinkling at the sides. He nodded in confirmation of her statement, Hermione practically beaming with pride.

" _ **One of the wisest witches of your era."**_


	15. Arabella Figg

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 823

Category: Standard

Additional: _Representing your houses traits (Ravenclaw, Wisdom)_

Prompt(s): [Pairing] Petunia/Ms. Figg

Year: **Standing in for Year 3**

* * *

Arabella Figg was _not_ Petunia's first choice for a babysitter, not by a long shot. She'd seen the odd woman around their street before and had been curious - extremely so - _yet_ had kept her distance. She was cautious because the woman was so unlike the rest of the people in their little neighborhood. She was not the kind of woman that Petunia wanted her son _or_ her nephew near, yet it was - much to her dismay - her last resort.

No one wanted to look after or take care of her nephew for a few hours while she and Vernon took Dudley out to an amusement park. Well, no one but Ms. Figg. Her stomach had dropped when she'd first walked into the little house, seeing the abundance of cats the woman owned. The place was decorated in a highly unorganized way that made Petunia feel _more_ than little a bit uncomfortable. The two had made their way into the living room, where they sat down with two cups of tea and began to talk.

"He's a bit...odd," came Petunia's quiet voice, her tone a whisper. It was as if she didn't want anyone else to hear what she'd said, despite that fact that they were behind closed doors. This was the point in their long conversation that she was sure would be the final red flag. She expected Arabella to scoff, laugh at her, tell her that she wouldn't watch little Harry. After all, that's what all the others she'd asked had done. It was easy to say that she was quite surprised at the woman's answer.

"I wouldn't expect him to be anything less," it was kind and caring, said in a knowing way. Ms. Figg wore a bright smile, eyes reflecting unlimited wisdom, as if she just _knew_. Petunia didn't want to ask if she was a - if she was like her sister. But the woman reminded her so much of that old professor who had gone to her sister all those years ago, Arabella shared his wise words and the twinkle he held in his eyes, had an answer to almost every question Petunia asked, just like the bearded wizard had. And yet, despite her hardest efforts at spotting anything, she couldn't find anything even remotely magical in Arabella's house.

Perhaps, Petunia supposed, the woman could just have been using her magic with wisdom, unlike most others in _that_ community. Saving it for a specific time, and using her good judgement to know when the right time was. Or maybe, for once in her life, she was wrong, not that she'd ever admitted that out loud. Maybe, this woman wasn't magical at all and hadn't a clue what Petunia meant by 'odd'.

Despite it all, however, Ms. Figg actually seemed to _understand_ Petunia, almost as if she too knew exactly what the younger woman was going through. After that meeting Petunia decided to try and form a stronger connection with Ms. Figg. Partly because she was nosy and wanted to figure out for herself if the woman was magical, or knew anything about the wizarding community. But also because of the wisdom Arabella was sharing with someone like _her._

The woman was odd at first, but she had solutions to almost every problem Petunia presented. And so the two became something similar to friends, or at least that's what it seemed like to the both of them. They would get together at least twice a week to talk over a cup of tea, more often than not Petunia would go into elaborate details explaining her worries and issues. Ms. Figg would listen and nod in understanding, quelling the worries with suggestions that seemed to almost always work.

Petunia had also asked, albeit very hesitant, why the woman hadn't quite organized her things. And after getting one of the longest, most drawn out responses she'd ever heard, she offered to help organize it all a little bit. It had taken three days to get everything into its proper place, but it worked out eventually. She figured it was the least she could do, after all, Arabella had been so kind and offered wise words and soothing consolations in some of Petunia's hardest moments.

It was quite an _unusual_ friendship, one she didn't share much about with her husband. But perhaps because they were polar opposites, Arabella and Petunia got along all the better because of it. They covered each other's weaknesses, Petunia being more organized, while Arabella had more wisdom and experience with all that life threw at people. Petunia found that she no longer cared if the woman was a witch or not, they were happy with their friendship, and that was all that mattered. For the first time Petunia Dursley found herself comfortable talking to someone about her fears or issues, and she actually got an intelligent, wise response.

 _ **She finally felt like she didn't have to worry.**_


	16. In Honor of Cedric

House: Ravenclaw

Word Count: 341

Category: Drabble

Additional: _A sad occasion/moment/emotion_

Prompt(s): [Theme] Family

Year: **Standing in for Year 3**

* * *

Amos Diggory was _devastated_ by the loss of his son, and it didn't hurt any less _now_ than it had four years ago. What people said wasn't true, it didn't get any easier to handle. Because _how_ could his brilliant, charismatic, intelligent son be gone? And yet, he was gone, never to return from the grave they'd had to bury him in; far too early than they ever should have had to. Amos' wife was heartbroken, but she was the one who fell too easily into moving on. It got easier for her, so why wasn't it getting easier for _him_?

Amos went to his son's grave often, to talk, or cry, or give his son praise. His wife - though he knew she thought he was insane to do something like that - was supportive of him, understanding. She too had lost a son. But Amos was still living, living now not only for himself, but for Cedric too. He was doing volunteer work now more than ever, because he knew it was what Cedric would definitely have done.

Cedric would have seen the flyers that said someone was in need of volunteers and wouldn't have thought twice about helping. So Amos did what he knew his son would have, he agreed to volunteer. It took up most of his time nowadays, all the volunteer work, but it was a wonderful distraction from everything else that was going on. And despite all the happiness he'd been bringing in Cedric's name, it wouldn't bring back his wonderful son.

But that wasn't the most important thing he did in Cedric's name, not in the slightest. Because while the volunteering Amos did was literally changing lives, and charity work was something Cedric did every now and again. There was still something Cedric did every single day, that Amos hadn't truly started doing _until_ his son was gone. It was something so many had _admired_ about the young boy. And so, Amos Diggory began loving with all his heart.

 _ **Because that's what Cedric would have done.**_


	17. One Horse Open Sleigh

**The Golden Snitch**

 **1: (dialogue) "I know I'm late, but this is for you…" / "A sleigh ride?"**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 450**

* * *

Draco sat quietly on an old wooden park bench, right across from an old christmas market that seemed to be a far more inviting setting than where he sat currently. The wonderous smells of cider and cookies drifted through the stalls and over towards his seat, it caused his stomach to growl slightly. Laughter drifted out from the tables that were inside the square, and Draco felt enticed to just get up and walk over there, join the jovial crowd and forget about waiting - Harry was late anyway.

His hands were shoved in his coat pockets, scarf wrapped tightly around himself as he waited in the cold weather. Impatience grew quickly within him as he sat, waiting for his boyfriend to show up. A scowl was set onto his features, eyes slightly narrowed as he looked through the park to try and spot Harry. _Thirty minutes_ , the blonde reminded himself, he'd been waiting for thirty minutes. Ten minutes ago his fingers would have been tapping on the bench softly, in a slow rhythm to try and calm his beating heart - to stop the irritation that was growing. It was too cold for that now.

The sound of snow crunching to his right made his head snap over in that direction, looking to see horses with fake antlers walking through the snow, pulling a red sleigh behind them. His brows shot up, surprise and amusement running through him, blocking out the irritation for a mere moment. Harry hopped out of the sleigh, running over to Draco's side, cheeks red from the cold. He seemed tired, though Draco honestly wasn't paying attention to that, he was too busy being stunned into silence.

"I know I'm late, but this is for you," came Harry's breathless voice, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Draco could only stand in shock at the sight before him, Harry disheveled and out of breath, standing in front of a sleigh with fake reindeer. It was almost comical, but Draco had to take into account the effort this must have taken.

"A sleigh ride?"

"Yeah, I thought we could enjoy the market on this," Harry had a goofy smile on his face, his glasses slightly lopsided as they rested on his nose. His emerald green eyes shone in the light, pleading with Draco to hop on the sleigh and enjoy the ride. _God,_ how could Draco say no to that? He sighed, a smile worming it's way onto his face.

"Alright," and with that he hopped up onto the sleigh, Harry following quickly behind. Draco slightly regretted giving in to Harry's wishes so quickly. But then again...

 _ **Draco never could say no to Harry.**_


	18. w a r

**The Golden Snitch**

 **2: (object) hot cocoa/ hot chocolate**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 302**

* * *

Order meetings were….rough, to say the least. Members - old and young alike - all wishing they could be somewhere else. Wishing this war would be over sooner, that they would prevail over the darkness quicker than they currently were. It was cold, dark outside, only a select few lights being turned on. The meeting had finished a couple hours ago, running longer than anyone had expected - and with the floo being tracked, going home was not an option. Peter Pettigrew had been exempt from the meeting due to family issues, so the only Marauders there were James, Sirius, and Remus.

They all sat in front of the fireplace, wrapped in blankets, huddled together as was tradition. It reminded them of Hogwarts, sitting in front of the fireplace when none of them wanted to go home for Christmas. Talking about things like if James would ever date Lily, or if Remus' little secret would ever get out to the rest of the world. But they were nineteen now, things had changed. James and Lily were married, that bet dying years ago when they'd first started dating. Remus' secret was no longer on any of their minds.

Now all they could talk about was the war, strategies on how to take out the next batch of Death Eaters. On how to make their ranks have just a little bit more of an advantage where they previously had none. Their conversation only broke for a moment when Lily walked in, eyes scanning the room before walking over, three mugs in her hands. She'd handed them out to the men, Remus smiling when he realized it was hot chocolate. And with that the mood was lifted. Because even in war you could count on the little things.

 _ **Even in war hot chocolate would bring them happiness.**_


	19. Good in Green

**The Golden Snitch**

 **3: (colour) forest green**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 467**

* * *

Green had always been Harry's color. There was never a doubt about that, his eyes were proof, _he_ was proof. And so whenever he wore green he just expected attention for it, a compliment, a snide remark, praise, hate, all of the above. It was an easy color to go to, and after the war he'd found himself wearing greens more often than not. But tonight, tonight was a gala, an expensive, brilliant, elegant gala. So he decided on a forest green set of suits for him and Draco to wear. The blonde was a Slytherin after all, he'd been wearing green for years, surely he wouldn't mind. Harry had been amused when Draco's eyes lit up, staring at the suit in awe, looking from it and then back to Harry again. It was as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

"You're sure about this color?" had come his voice, his excitement evident in his tone, despite how much he was trying to hide it. Harry could only smile and nod.

"We've got to be at the gala in thirty minutes so you should go get ready now, I've got to be there sooner be-"

"Yes, yes, I know, you've got host duties or whatever," came Draco's slightly mocking response, cutting off his boyfriend's sentence. Harry could only smile, giving Draco a small kiss before watching the blonde disappear into their bathroom. He sighed, slipping into his shoes before apparating to the gala. He met Ron and Hermione at the doors, giving a slight bow to Hermione and congratulating her on becoming the Minister of Magic.

They entered first, passing by the line of other witches and wizards who stood nearest to the front entrance. The interior was decorated spectacularly, no doubt done by Hermione who's decorating skills never failed to amaze. The Christmas Tree was by far the most brilliant thing in the room though, it's forest green branches having thousands of ornaments strung off of them. Fifteen minutes passed slowly, Harry figuring that they were perhaps the longest fifteen minutes of his life. Then, finally, people started to get let in, and Harry's bright green eyes scanned the crowd for his boyfriend. Looking for the blonde man in the same suit as his own.

He looked around for a moment, before his eyes finally landed on Draco, and his green eyes widened in shock at what he saw. He'd never seen Draco in green, at least not since the war had been over, and he'd figured Draco just didn't like the color. But after seeing the slytherin in the forest green suit, one that fitted him spectacularly, he didn't quite understand the other man's aversion to the color. Because if there was one thing he knew…

 _ **It was that Draco Malfoy looked wonderful in green.**_


	20. Scarlet Mysteries

**The Golden Snitch**

 **4: (colour) scarlet**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 380**

* * *

Bill Weasley was curious as to if what everyone was saying was true, what his mother and father were saying anyway. They said Hogwarts was wonderful, that it was a brilliant place filled with adventure and fun, that Hogwarts helped you belong somewhere. _Merlin_ , he hoped it was true, after all, he didn't really feel like he fit in anywhere at the moment. His trunk was packed as he stood in front of the floo, waiting for his parents to get done with the others and get him to King's Cross Station. The hogwarts letter was scrunched up in his hand, it's scarlet seal flashing in the morning sun. He kept a close eye on their grandfather clock, watching nervously as the minutes passed by. Finally at a quarter to ten his mother rushed into the sitting room - her face was flushed scarlet, eyes darting along the room before finally landing on Bill.

He tilted his head at her, a brow quirking as she smiled and ushered him into the fireplace. The Weasley tried not to let his nerves show as he took the green powder, knowing you had to be extremely clear with floo powder. The flames turned green around him, a contrast to the usual scarlet fire usually turned. And in a flash he was at the station, his mother arriving quickly behind him. She ushered him quickly to a cart, moving through the bustling station and towards the platform with a practiced ease. It all happened so fast, her explaining what he had to do, him running towards the wall, the bricks passing right through him.

Then there it was, the brilliant train his father loved talking about - and though he had heard his father's tales of the brilliant scarlet train, he hadn't expected it to be so wonderous. His eyes were wide with awe, taking in the moment, the first time he'd see the train. A smile broke out onto his face, an uncontrollable grin spreading across his features. Though he'd been worried before, now he felt more confident. If Hogwarts was anywhere near as brilliant as this train then he was sure that the rest of his father's stories could actually be true. One thing was for certain, however...

 _ **Hogwarts was going to be**_ **amazing** _ **.**_


	21. Tradition

**The Golden Snitch**

 **5: (object) present wrapped in red and gold**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 359**

* * *

Draco loved Christmas at the Manor, it was always something he could look forward to. Because at Christmas he could spend time with his mother, decorating the tree, or baking cookies, and he wouldn't get judged for it. But what was by far his favorite part of Christmas was wrapping the presents with his mother. They would sit beneath the tree for hours, wrapping the presents in red paper and gold ribbons. It was always by hand, like his mother insisted it would always be, perhaps because it showed more care was put into the presents.

He'd shake their boxes sometimes, to see if he could tell what was underneath the brightly colored paper. It was wonderful, calm, _perfect_. And the best part of it all was that his father was actually proud of him for it. Lucius' eyes lighting up when he would see his son and wife sitting underneath the tree, laughing and wrapping the presents carefully. A smile slipping onto his face in the morning when he'd get his first present, usually handed to him by Draco. It was tradition, and everyone loved it. Well, they used to anyway, before _everything_. Before the war, before Voldemort, before death and anguish and fear. Perhaps, Draco mused, they should bring back their traditions, enlist a little bit more cheer into their lives.

He was currently sat in a chair, pushed up against a little table - the chair opposite to him was empty, not that he would have been able to see whomever was sitting there - no the present in front of him was too large for that. It was a square present, wrapped in red wrapping paper and a gold ribbon. Just like the old times, when things actually resembled an alright life. A buzzer sounded, and in walked a raggedy looking Lucius Malfoy, Draco's face paling at the harrowing sight. Azkaban really was taking its toll on the man. His father's eyes scanned the room, before landing sharply on Draco, eyes softening at the corners when he saw the present. All the blonde boy could do was offer a smile.

 _ **Perhaps this was a tradition worth keeping.**_


	22. Stories

**The Golden Snitch**

 **6: (scenario) reading a story**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 407**

* * *

 _Momma, can you read me a story?_

Little Scorpius Malfoy stood in front of his mother's room, peeking in to see her laughing with his father. A book was held tightly in his hand, _Snow White_ , as his mother had called it. He wondered if she would read it for him that night, before bed like she usually did. He garbled out his question, unsure if he should interrupt his parent's happiness or not. But his mother looked over at him, her smile only growing, before she scooped him up and headed off towards his room.

She read to him softly, after tucking him underneath his covers and making sure he had his stuffed dragon resting beside him. Then she read to him, her voice slowly and quietly telling the story. He drifted off to sleep quickly, her soothing voice leading him right off into unconsciousness. It was a good story.

 _Mom, will you read me a story?_

He stood, eight years of age in front of her doorway, wondering if she would tell him a story now. With her condition he didn't know if she would. His father said it was bad, that it would hurt her terrible and he shouldn't bother her. Yet he still stood there. Her gaze landed on him, her eyes tired as she looked at him. Though she still smiled and motioned for him to enter the room. He sat at the end of the bed, handing her _Cinderella_ and closing his eyes as she began to read. Her voice drowned out all of his worries, and he slipped off into sleep before she got past chapter one. He honestly couldn't tell you if it was a good book or not.

 _Mother, what about a story?_

Now he stood in front of her grave, a frown on his face as he tried not to cry. He held _Snow White_ in his hands, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. How could this be happening, how could she be gone? He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to think it was true - that he'd never hear her voice again, that she'd never read him a story again. Though perhaps now, he presumed, now he'd get to return the favor. He spoke then, the rain pouring down onto his umbrella as he stared at the headstone - his voice nothing more than a whisper.

" _ **Mother, do you want to hear a story?"**_


	23. Chapter 23

**The Golden Snitch**

 **7: (song) Any Christmas carol of your choosing**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 474**

* * *

 _~ I don't want a lot for Christmas ~_

Draco listened to the song on the jukebox with something akin to hesitation on his face, looking to Harry with a curious gaze. He'd noticed Harry looking off, nervous, hesitant, shy almost. It was new, odd, Draco needed to know what was going on. Yet Harry just shook his head, a smile worming it's way onto his features.

 _~ There is just one thing I need ~_

"What are you trying to tell me?" had come his confused question, and he tried to ignore Harry's incredulous gaze. Harry's mouth was open, his eyes wide.

"Don't tell me you've never heard this song," came his retort. Draco didn't understand, because didn't Harry know that he'd never been introduced to anything muggle related. Especially jukeboxes, muggle music, everything really. It was just how he'd grown up.

 _~ I don't care about the presents ~_

"No, Harry, I can't say I have. Why?" Harry only shook his head, going back to being silent for a moment. Draco was having none of it, because why did Harry think he could play this game? Whatever the game was. The blonde narrowed his eyes slightly, and Harry only laughed.

 _~ Underneath the Christmas tree ~_

"Just listen to the rest of the song for Merlin's sake," his tone was full of laughter as he pulled Draco closer, trying to pull him into a dance. The blonde couldn't stay upset, and he soon found himself dancing around their little apartment in london. Harry tensed up a little at the next line of the song, shifting a small bit, clueing Draco in.

 _~ I just want you for my own ~_

He tried to catch Harry's gaze, confusion washing over him. Surely this wasn't what he thought it was. Yet Harry just kept spinning Draco across the room, purely wrapped up in the song. So the blonde tried to assure himself that he was just crazy, he was getting his hopes up and he should just live in the moment, embrace it to the best of his abilities.

 _~ More than you could ever know ~_

It was getting harder and harder to do as the lyrics progressed, Harry slowing them down and Draco feeling nerves settling in the pit of his stomach. Harry wanted him to listen to the song, and he was, a lot now. He had a feeling of what this was, a feeling that this _couldn't_ be happening.

 _~ Make my wish come true ~_

And yet Harry stopped spinning Draco, moving back and smiling at him. Draco watched as he moved down onto one knee, pulling out a small green box. The blonde's hands flew to his mouth, tears at the corner of his eyes. The ring was wonderful, brilliant and shining in the light of their small apartment. Draco couldn't believe he'd been right.

 _ **All I want for Christmas is you.**_


	24. Cursed

**The Golden Snitch**

 **8: (object) bauble/ornament**

 **AJ, Kasai; Mahoutokoro.**

 **Advent Calendar Event**

 **Word count: 418**

* * *

"That ornament is cursed Ronald!" shouted an angry Hermione Granger, her face flushed crimson as she looked at the tree in front of her. She honestly didn't know why she'd told him about her decorations in june of all times. He'd wanted to see them immediately, and she regretted ever mentioning it in the first place. But it wasn't her fault, she'd just warned him not to touch it when he'd brought it up. After all, it had always brought her family bad luck when they'd hung it on the tree. They'd always joked that it was cursed, and ever since learning she was a witch her belief in the curse had only grown stronger.

Which is why she still couldn't believe Ron was insisting they hang it. She'd taken it down multiple times, hiding it in ingenious spots as to make it so he couldn't find it. And yet he always managed to find a way to hang it back up on the tree. This time he'd put in in the back of the tree, so that she wouldn't see it right away. Perhaps it was better that she didn't tell him she always checked the tree. Despite that she stood with it in her hand, dangling it in front of Ron's sheepish face.

"Why don't we just get it tested?" he'd asked a moment later, watching Hermione pinch the bridge of her nose. She nodded at him, it was a good idea, but who could they ask? Neville, no too much to do with plants - Draco, no he and Ron still didn't quite get on, then it dawned on her.

"Luna," she breathed out, knowing the woman would be able to tell her once and for all if the damned ornament was cursed or not. He quirked a brow at her, before letting himself get dragged out of the door and into the bustling london streets. Hermione smiled as they neared Luna and Ginny's apartment complex, sighing in relief when they finally reached the doors. She buzzed up to their house, mumbling that it was her before hustling up the cold stairwell. Ron followed closely behind her. She knocked on their blue door, rushing inside and handing the locket to Luna - the confused blonde only moving on to raise an eyebrow.

"The ornament, is it cursed," she sounded desperate, of that much she could tell. Ron looked at her like she was slightly insane. Luna, however, only smiled over at her.

" _ **This ornament? Oh most definitely."**_


End file.
